


Meditation and Rumination

by AsimovSideburns



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsimovSideburns/pseuds/AsimovSideburns
Summary: Taako can’t sleep
Relationships: Davenport & Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Meditation and Rumination

It’s late, and he should be trancing. It’s two am, three am, six am, and he should be trancing. The problem isn’t that he doesn’t know he should be trancing, he _knows_ he should be trancing. Gotta get those four hours in, gods, it’s just four hours how is that so hard, but it is. The thoughts racing through his mind, did he cast the right spell, did he say the right thing, was his smile too wide or too crooked or too fake or too real.

Did the people he killed today deserve it.

Fuck it.

A walk on the quad, sun rises early on the moon but the people rise late, trashed after a celebration that went on long after he excused himself, gotta get those winks, beauty like this doesn’t last if you don’t take care of yourself—doesn’t say he hates the crowds, now, hates the people slapping him on the back and congratulating him, the sick feeling he gets when he watches someone scarf down the snacks, _he fed them their deaths_.

Couldn’t even open the bag of tortilla chips.

He finds a comfortable spot beneath a tree, lets the sunlight wash over him, hoping a change of scenery will jar loose the looping thoughts and finally let him _rest_ , when he sees the figure closing in on him. Not _closing in_ , just _approaching_ , why does he feel like a cornered animal all of a sudden, but then the figure steps out of the sunlight and it’s just Davenport. Harmless, weird Davenport.

“Early riser, huh? That’s cool, me, too.”

“Davenport,” he says, sitting down next to him.

“Of course I slept. Like a baby. Didn’t even notice the racket you guys were making.”

“Davenport!”

“Can’t fool you, can I? Nah. It’s cool, not your fault I couldn’t sleep.”

“Davenport.”

Davenport pats him on the shoulder companionably. He doesn’t pull away.

“Do you ever think… nah.”

“Davenport?” Davenport asks, offering him an apple.

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

Davenport shrugs and puts the apple in his bag.

“Is it worth it, do you think? Is what we do worth all the things that brought us here? The people I poisoned and the names Magnus yells in his sleep and… well, whatever Merle’s got going on?”

Davenport pulls out a brush and gestures questioningly to his hair. He shrugs, but in the way that means _sure, why not_ instead of the way that means _whatever, fuck off_.

Davenport begins brushing his hair.

“I guess Merle seems okay, except for his weird plant thing. You think that’s because of something fucked up in his past or just how he always was? Gross as hell, either way. I called the plants in his room a ‘harem’ the other day and he got this thoughtful look on his face that made me regret my entire life. Teach me to make a joke.”

Davenport begins braiding.

“I guess I just think… sometimes I wonder… did those people have to die so I could be here and make a difference? Or would I have found my way here anyway? Maybe somebody else could do what I do. Collect the relics. But everybody else failed, and we didn’t, so what does that mean? Is it, like, the will of the gods?”

Davenport shrugs. “Davenport.”

“Pretty fucked up gods that force a town to die to put someone in the right place at the right time.”

Davenport finishes the braid, and sits next to him again.

“I… I… I’m Davenport,” he struggles.

“I know. If you tell anybody I have emotions, though, you’re gonna be a pigeon, and then you’re gonna be squab. Got it?”

“Davenport,” Davenport nods.

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna sit back and enjoy the sunshine.”

And he lays down, at last, to rest.


End file.
